A big step
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Tonight is a big night. L. is attending a 12 step progam meeting… It’s the first time he actually tries something, in all these years.
The trigger? Valentine’s day most likely. This was not an evening to remember. I walked in the bedroom, he was there, a glass of scotch on the bedside table, coked out of his mind. I was so, so dissapointed. But proud at the same time, because I was able to tell him. Instead of saying nothing, turning my head, gritting my teeth, waiting for it to be over. I spoke up. No fight. I just said “I am so dissapointed. I thought we could make this evening special, make love instead of fucking, like usual. I think you missed a great opportunity.” That’s all I said.
So he’s at the meeting right now. It was starting at 7.30pm. He hasn’t called yet. So I’m hoping it means that he stuck around. I’m hoping we can talk about it when he gets home. I’m hoping he will like it enough to go back.
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Uploaded nightmare
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Well, filelodge.com has been down for 2 days. I’ve been looking for an alternative, a service that allows me to embed my mp3 into this blog. And so far, nothing. So I’m testing a few. Now, this, castpost, embeds a player. But I want the file to start playing by itself, I don’t want a player… But that’s me. And that player here is quite ugly, clunky and big. Well, back to my hunt!
Circle Jerk
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I love you dearly, but I must not write to please you right? I must write for me. And as hard as I’ve tried to pull myself out of this fucking hole, I’m still very much in it. And I’ll mope and whine and slather my despair all over my blog. Because that’s how I feel. And writing here is what I need to keep madness from reaching its ultimate goal, which is my mind.
In December L. and I decided to give our relationship a chance. And I’m having a hard time right now. Very hard. I’m still convinced it was the right decision. I just don’t know if I’ll be able to go through with this. I can’t even word it. I just need to say it.
I don’t think it’s going to work out.
What a fucking mess.
I’m looking forward to our trip in Colombia. I think it will be a nice change of pace. Get out of the house, the routine. I want this trip to make or brake things. Something has to happen. I can make it happen. Regardless. I can change my mind, I can admit I was wrong, or that I was right.
As for now, my mind has left the building. I’m running low on gas. I’m not going to give up, but I need to recharge my batteries. What better place than a beach in South America?
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Un bon coup d’pied dans l’cul
Des fois ça prend ça. J’en ai reçu un de mon amifellowblogger Jeliel dans son commentaire à mon dernier post. Franchement, ça fait du bien. J’ai pas d’affaire à me sentir si misérable. Pas à cause de choses ou de gens sur lesquels je n’ai aucun contrôle. Pas à cause d’événements que j’ai moi-même provoqués. C’est vrai que c’est simple. C’est aussi vrai que c’est façile de s’appitoyer, de se laisser aspirer, de se noyer dans le noir. C’est même confortable. Beaucoup plus que de se botter le cul. Des fois des coups de pied au cul se perdent. Pas celui-çi.
J’apprend à tous les jours. Je m’enfarge souvent, mais ça fait de moins en moins mal, parce que je tombe de moins haut. Une main tendue, c’est bien. Un coup d’pied dans l’derrière c’est mieux. Pour moi en tout cas. Je ne veux pas tout considérer avec du recul. Je veux voir les choses venir de loin. Bon, là je les ai dans la face, mais c’est mieux que rien.
Des attentes, j’en ai beaucoup. Je dois me contenter de celles qui me concernent. Celles qui sont bénifiques. Les empoisonneuses, les négatives, les impossibles, elles ne sont que des prétextes. Pour m’éviter de me regarder de trop près. Et de le faire à jeûn. C’est pas toujours joli.
One word
There are times I miss getting wasted. Acid, mescalin, thc, coke, pills, booze, whatever I could put my hands on. To look at life, at things, at people, as colors and movements and temperatures and smells. Lobotomized reality. There are times, I wish emotions did not take over and hurt so bad.
That’s a lame statement, “hurt so bad”. It doesn’t really translate the actual hurt, because we hear and say it so much. When I say hurt, I mean physically hurting, scathing, scorching, mutilating. It’s ripping my insides, it’s choking me.
I feel totally lost, totally alone in my hurt. I feel pushed away, when in fact I was pulled in.
I’m sad, sad, sad so fucking sad. I will do what I do every day. I will say what I say every day. But I will go to bed sad. And I will wake up sad. And only one word could turn this around. Not two, not three. Just like only one drove me here.
Hours will pass. Days will pass. The sadness will recede, like a wave. Will return, like the tide. But to where the word came from, to where the word could come from, I will go back. I will ask again. I take full responsability. The fear of rejection is lesser than the desire of acceptance.
I want to beg, I want to plea, I want to kneel in front of you and cry. I want everything to stop. Everything to be right.
I still hope to hear the word. Because to think that it will not come is unbearable. I was there not too long ago. Thought I was through, thought I was done. Then one word. Like boiling water over everything I’ve said. Like when you stroke a match. Me. Instant combustion. Scorched remains, ashes.
Sweep me off the floor. Blow me away. I’m done.
La petite cage
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Le monde s’écroule autour d’elle
Un bébé dans son ventre
Un sans-coeur sur le sofa
Une amie sur le hold
C’est un adieu qu’elle ne veut pas faire
Qu’elle va faire pour lui
Qu’elle va faire pour le garder
Qu’elle regrette déjà avant de l’avoir fait
Une lettre à laquelle elle n’a pas répondu
Un sourire mort sur ses lèvres
Une larme coupant son visage
Une porte qu’elle m’a claqué dans la face
Dans sa petite cage
Elle croupi
Dans sa petite cage
Elle se meurt
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